


Distractions

by soartfullydone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, Thanks for coming to my tedtalk, Two Rogues Engage in Foreplay, Zevran Is a Switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soartfullydone/pseuds/soartfullydone
Summary: Melody Cousland knows that being a Grey Warden means sacrifice, but a certain closely-held Warden secret blindsides her, shaking her resolve. Even an attempt at solitude offers no peace... until Zevran finds her. The former Antivan Crow cannot fully be trusted, yet the solution he brings to address her fears is an all-too tempting offer.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Cousland, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Distractions

Melody Cousland was chest deep in the freezing water before she sensed the danger—and a mage, she was not. 

The pond stirred in chaotic ripples as she spun towards the threat—some manner of bandit—hurtling toward her from the trees, his sword clenched in his fist. She reached behind her instinctively for a weapon that wasn’t there, her blood pounding with the futility of her actions. Her underclothes and armor laid on the bank along with her daggers, one of the blades zapping uselessly with a lightning rune. She had no way to protect herself. She was going to die a shameful death for anyone, but certainly for a Grey Warden. The savage sneer on the bandit’s face, the malice and lust in his eyes, all promised a terrible end.

And then his eyes were rolling into the back of his head, his body giving an unnatural jerk, and the  _ sound _ he made—a horrible, wet gasp of air—was his last before he dropped headfirst into the water, dead on impact.

Heart hammering in her chest, she saw a familiar blade sticking out from the back of his head, the copper hilt glinting in the moonlight. It wasn’t one of hers. 

“That was a close call, my dear.”

Zevran Arainai strolled into sight and placed his boot on the bandit’s back. The dead body twitched as the elven assassin freed his Crow dagger from the man’s nervous system. The body fell chillingly still. 

Using the bandit’s shirt to clean the blade, he added, “Not even so much as a thank you? How uncharacteristic of the Warden I’ve seen extend her compassion to doomsayers and madmen in the woods. Either you’re still harboring hurt feelings from when I tried to kill you,  _ or _ ”—he continued in a drawl as a new idea occurred to him—“you’ve found me so impressive I’ve rendered you speechless at last.” 

Zevran fixed her with the same knowing smile and over-brimming confidence she’d grown used to seeing in camp the last few months. An undercurrent of danger was there, too, born of both their mutual attraction and the shared knowledge that, yes, he had tried very earnestly to kill her not too long ago. Now, he was very earnestly attempting to build trust where there was very little, until he decided just as earnestly that some other venture was better worth his time.

Melody knew all of this, but she was far more preoccupied with the humiliation that she had nearly  _ died _ . Not at the hands of a skilled Antivan Crow, but at those of a bandit she’d recently spared and run off from Lothering. She recognized his haphazard armor now and felt like an utter fool.

Not only for sparing him but also because she’d wanted to be alone, was desperate for a bath, and almost lost her life over something so stupid in hindsight.

Worse that  _ Zevran _ had found her like this. She would’ve instantly preferred Sten’s utter indifference or Morrigan’s unpleasant reprimands. She could hear the latter now.  _ Alistair’s blunt and prideful stupidity is bad enough, but shouldn’t I be allowed to count on you for sense? Are you also some kind of idiot? _

_ Some kind, _ she would agree with the apostate mage, but just this once.

Morrigan, however, wasn’t here to verbally spar with. Melody was still naked, and her weapons were by Zevran’s feet, the elf in question not so much undressing her with his eyes as he was willing the very water around her to evaporate.

He was another person she had spared. Was her mercy going to prove to be a mistake yet again? 

She ducked lower, her chin brushing the top of the pool, and said the first thing she could think of to get him to leave, so she could reacquire her clothes and something sharp. “There should be others—”

“There were,” Zevran replied smoothly, the words dancing with his Antivan accent. “They died much quieter than their friend here. I suppose I was a little… overzealous.”

Of course a killer as trained as he would’ve already incapacitated the rest of the bandits. Her plan dashed, Melody resigned herself to thinking of another. If he were here to correct his failure at assassinating her, this would be the time. Both of them knew how far away camp was. Even if she called, no one would come to her aid fast enough. It wasn’t a matter of assuming he would’ve killed her by now if he wanted her dead. How many stories had he told her where he’d played with his target first before killing them?

“Overzealous to… protect me?” she asked, disbelieving.

“To catch a sight of you in the moonlight, naked and dripping wet, of course.”

Despite herself, she laughed, a light scoffing sound. “Well? Did you get what you came for?”

“Not yet. But the night is young, and you are still very unclothed.”

“I hope you’re not expecting that to be your reward because it’s not happening,” she warned him, but her smile had become too real. More soberly, she added, “Regardless of your plans, thank you. For saving my life.”

“One step closer to us calling it even, no?” Zevran sheathed the dagger behind his back and hefted the dead man’s body from the water. With a shrug, he cast it off behind a fallen tree trunk, where he assumed a seat. “But in all seriousness, it was my pleasure. Not everyone can say they’ve rescued a beautiful Grey Warden from a watery grave.”

“Or watch her as she tries to bathe,” Melody said dryly.

“Yes. That, too.”

“Such selflessness does you credit.”

Her deadpanning aside, she was growing increasingly self-conscious, so she turned her back toward Zevran, feigning casualness. It only made her feelings of exposure more pronounced. She felt his eyes tracing every part of her that he could see—the back of her neck, the dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders into the water—and heat flooded her body. She had lost her bar of lye soap, dropping it in surprise at the bandit’s attack. Happy to have a real reason to avoid Zevran, she took a breath and submerged into the cold pool, intent on finding it. Fortunately, the pool wasn’t remarkably deep, and she fished it out from a tangle of twigs growing up from the lake’s bottom. When she came up for air, she was shivering, and she welcomed the discomfort. It meant that earlier heat was gone. 

“You know…” Zevran called, “I was  _ this _ close to diving in after you.” 

“Were you now?” She lathered the soap between her hands—or tried to. It was remarkably resistant in that regard, but it was also hell on her skin if she put it straight on. Her hands, used to the weight and handle of daggers, could abide some roughness. “A good thing you didn’t. Getting water in your shoes is intolerable.”

“Ah, but it would be a worthwhile price to pay if it meant I could revive you with my lips.”

“You’ve never resuscitated anyone before, have you?”

“Well, no. It’s not exactly a skillset one needs to have to work for the Crows, you see.”

“So you don’t know how immensely unflattering it would look if I, say, threw up a lung’s worth of water? Not to mention how convenient my drowning would be for you.” 

“You underestimate your appeal, Warden. A dazed and flushed face is what I aim for.” He leaned his elbows on his knees and said, “I could always kiss you and  _ then _ kill you. Or I could see how far a kiss could take me.”

“Well, at least you’re honest.”

“I would almost be offended if you thought otherwise.”

Silence overtook their bantering, broken only by the sounds of the night. The water lapped gently against her as she bathed, punctuated by the soft hoot of an owl in the distance. Crickets chirped in the grass. A gust of wind suddenly rushed by, rustling the leaves of the trees, before growing just as suddenly still again. Even a few fireflies remained, glowing over the water before disappearing into shadow.

Inevitably, it was Zevran who disrupted the quiet first. 

“To be a Grey Warden,” he started slowly, as if he were pondering how to phrase the question to get the most interesting answer. “Means giving up everything about the life you once knew in service of others, yes?”

“‘The Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens as no sacrifice is greater than theirs,’ if you believe the Chantry.” Melody bobbed a little closer toward the bank, eyeing him over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Zevran. I’m not going to abuse your oath and call on you to abandon all your worldly possessions to join up.”

“I know. If you did, I would surely make tracks, but I was not asking for myself. I’m asking because I couldn’t help but notice you brought yourself out here after talking with the other Warden.” His smile turned shrewd. “I don’t fully believe you needed to wash your hair badly enough to risk darkspawn attacking you, much less these thieving knaves, whilst alone. Unless there’s another reason.”

Melody frowned. She was sure she and Alistair had kept their voices down as they always did when discussing sensitive Grey Warden business around their companions. What she had learned tonight had upset her, and she hadn’t managed to keep her feelings off her face. Hadn’t stopped herself from being honest about them, either. Alistair had been hurt, which was the last thing she wanted, but she couldn’t ignore her reaction. But it was between them, or it should’ve been. She hadn’t realized that Zevran watched her as closely as he’d once joked; apparently, his keen stare had never been a joke at all.

Aiming to deflect, she assumed a haughty air. “Now you’re underestimating  _ my _ vanity. I’ve spent far more of my life as a noblewoman than a Grey Warden. Pampering goes hand-in-hand with my pedigree. I guess it’s going to take some time to forget who I was before. Or maybe not, after what happened.”

“You’re referring to Howe.”

“Howe and the whole thing. My home taken, my family killed. No word at all if Fergus is dead or alive. And none of it can matter to me because there’s a Blight.” Melody splashed water on her face, her throat suddenly tight at the memory of her parents, at the terrifying unknown of her brother’s fate, but she kept her tone blithe. “Because I’m a Grey Warden, and it’s an honor. A great honor.”

“If I can leave the Crows, surely you could leave the Grey Wardens?”

“Can the Crows sense where you are no matter where you go?” She worked a knot out of her hair with a bit more force than was warranted. “I appreciate the thought, but I know this is what I should be doing. Morbid as it is, my parents didn’t sacrifice themselves for me to go off and die without a cause. This is where I need to be, as angry as I am about it.”

“You don’t sound angry to me, Warden. You sound sad.”

Melody paused in her aimless scrubbing, his words hitting her hard. 

“Zevran.”

“Yes, my dear?”

The chill of the water was in her bones now. All of her was shaking, her teeth chattering if she didn’t keep her jaw clenched. “I’d like to get out now. Could you turn around, please?”

He sighed. “Oh, very well. You’ve had such a scare, and how could I deny such a polite request?”

Seeing straight through him, Melody added, “And  _ don’t _ peek.”

A harsh exhale. “You ruin all my fun!”

Yet the elf did twist around to the other side of the trunk and nudged something with his boot. Melody remembered a dead body was there when he said, “Avert your eyes from my fair maiden, you scoundrel!”

With a shake of her head and a begrudging smile, she emerged from the pool and reached for the blanket folded by her leather armor. She wasn’t putting the latter back on—not with it being this late and the material still drying—but she’d also brought clothes to sleep in. A simple light tunic that reached her knees and some underclothes. Keeping an eye on Zevran’s back, she decided to keep him entertained while she toweled off. “All your fun, huh? So killing bandits doesn’t get you going?”

“Perhaps if there had been a few more of them, it would’ve been sporting.”

“How many were there?” 

“Besides this lecherous whoreson? Only three.”

“How did you kill them?”

“...Are you certain you wish to know?”

“After everything that’s happened lately, I’m hardly squeamish. Tell me.”

“Hmm. This isn’t usually how I tempt a woman into my arms, but sure, why not?” He straightened his shoulders as if he were a teacher preparing to give a lesson to a pupil. Or a peacock preparing to preen. “The first was easy prey. I trailed him for a bit to make it more interesting, see if he would spot me in the dark. But he proved easily distracted and slower than his fellows. When he felt the prick against his arm, he must’ve believed it was a thorn grazing against him instead of my blade. The poison did its work to stop his heart, and when he dropped, I caught him before his fall could alert the others.

“When I approached the next two, they were in-step and determined to stay that way. Their leader was advancing on you, so I knew I had to act quickly and take them out together. Do you know how easy it is to sink a knife hilt-deep into that wonderful muscle between neck and shoulder? It’s also a delightful place to be kissed, if you’re curious.”

“I know.”

“Do you? To both? How interesting. As you can imagine, there was no hiding that kill, and predictably, his fellow bandit reacted with a swing of his axe. I ducked and opened his throat. The look on his face...” Zevran trailed off with a laugh. “They somehow never see it coming, do they? You know what happened next. I admit, our friend here got closer than I would’ve liked.” 

Melody pulled the tunic over her head and smoothed the fabric down her body. The way Zevran talked about killing was how she’d heard Leliana talk about stories and songwriting. How her brother had talked about ruling Highever one day. With something akin to feverish joy and excitement. Macabre as the topic was, it was doing wonders at distracting her from her worries—and the obligations she shouldered now. She ventured to ask, “How did it feel?”

“Which part?” the assassin purred. His head tilted, but he stopped himself before he could defy her no-peeking order. “All of it is exhilarating, Warden. The hunt is a thrill. You calculate your target’s habits and learn their weaknesses, their vices. When the hunt becomes a chase, you never feel more alive—excluding sex, of course, and only if it’s  _ extremely _ good. Then, there’s the moment when you catch up to them, and you see in their eyes that they know exactly why you’re there. In that moment, you wield more power than the Maker, and they are solely at your mercy. Yes, that moment is truly divine.”

She shuddered, and neither fear nor cold water was the cause. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she came to stand on the other side of him. “And it was like that when you hunted me?”

A dark smile crept across his face as his amber eyes found hers. “Certainly. Though your reputation provided an added edge of titillation, I assure you.”

She sat beside him, her facing the pond and him facing the woods. “Why the elaborate scheme, then? Did you already know I would help a poor stranger on the road, or were you only hoping I would, given my new title as a Grey Warden? Because if you knew, you could’ve played the role yourself, could’ve gotten close enough to strike true.” 

Melody took in the tawny skin of his face; the blond hair half tied back in a braid; the pointed ears; and the three lines of his tattoos, one framing his left eye and two curving along his left cheek. His was a handsome visage, and he didn’t just know it; he weaponized it. “Why didn’t you just seduce me? Or use poison, which you’ve said you specialize in as your preferred method? What you tried… doesn’t seem like you.”

Zevran’s face had gone blank as she poked holes in his assassination attempt. She’d wondered about it for a while now, and hearing him talk the way he had about the bandits pushed her to finally ask.

His lips slanted in a self-deprecating fashion. “You want me to admit I was arrogant? Fine. I was exceedingly arrogant. I thought it would be no small matter to take down one of the Wardens, true, which is why I came out in force as I did. But I also knew you were only recently inducted and former nobility at that. An untested Warden, what threat could you really be?”

“Alistair’s missing in these calculations. You must not think much of him.”

“Untrue. I think of Alistair  _ obsessively _ .” The glimmer in his eyes was mocking. “Just not as a threat.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“If only  _ that _ were simple. Being an ass is exactly how I wound up with my men all dead and me tied and bound at your feet… And you, willing to spare me, which I still don’t understand but am immeasurably grateful for.”

His words rang true to her, but he was still dancing around her questions. Melody thought about pushing but dropped it. She also had things she was hiding, even from Alistair. She suspected all her companions had secrets they weren’t comfortable sharing.

Everyone except her mabari hound, who shared far too much of himself sometimes.

“It’s good to know, Warden, how much you’re paying mind to me,” Zevran continued, leaning toward her with a widening grin. “In case you’re wondering, I’m just as curious about you. For instance, do you always wear so little to bed?”

Her tunic had ridden up over her knees when she sat, and her bare legs were peeking through the blanket. Melody flushed at the realization—and Zevran’s acute attention—but did nothing to correct either one. “Oh, no. At Highever, it was all long, shapeless nightgowns. Lacy but not at all sexy.”

“Did they tie in the front or the back?”

Amused, she indulged him. “The back.”

“Mm, and how often did you have someone help you out of your shapeless cage, my dear?”

“At least once a day.” Shock widened Zevran’s eyes, a rare sight, but it also stalled his teasing. She chuckled. “I had a chambermaid. Not sure if I should be flattered or not that you believed I had  _ that _ many suitors clamoring at my door.”

“Always choose to be flattered. It’s more fun that way.”

“What do  _ you _ wear to bed, then?”

“Nothing at all, preferably. But usually, my bed isn’t empty.”

“The past few months must’ve been torture for you. Unless you’re sneaking people into camp.”

Zevran winced. “Well, I admit, I tried that once, and then I ran into Sten—you know what? It doesn’t bear repeating. I would like to request we go into town soon. Any town.”

“You know… You could always ask Morrigan if it’s getting that bad for you.”

“Oh, would if I could. That temptress defies me at every turn.”

“Poor you.”

The elf raised a brow. “And how long has it been for  _ you _ ? Did you have someone when… Ah, perhaps this is no longer the best topic.”

“It’s okay. There wasn’t anyone, just… Just family and friends.” Melody glanced up at the stars, attempting to put those thoughts away and reclaim the easy air from before. “The last time I had a beau was… two years ago? It never became too serious between us, and by the time we realized we were better off staying friends, his parents had arranged a match for him. A good thing because he left Highever. I haven’t seen him since his wedding.”

When Zevran was silent, she asked, “What?”

“Are you saying you haven’t experienced the pleasures of the flesh with anyone in _two years_?”

She sighed heavily. “I  _ knew _ this would be your reaction. Is it really that unfathomable to believe?”

“Considering you’re young and gorgeous and  _ alive _ , yes! I’m beginning to rethink my warm thoughts about Ferelden if its people are just letting enchanting creatures like yourself roam around unfulfilled like this. I don’t know how much more heartbreak I can withstand. There’s no fornicating in the Chantry, no orgies in the Circles—just  _ what _ is everyone doing in this country that’s so important? No wonder you’ve seemed so unhappy since I’ve met you.”

Her good humor slid completely away from her. Was that how she came across to others? To him? Did she really seem so…?

“That’s not the first time you’ve said something like that,” she responded in a neutral tone. “Earlier, you said I sounded sad. I’m not! I’m only… It’s been a lot to adjust to recently.” 

She tried to smile but couldn’t muster one. Highever was too fresh. Her parents, Oriana, Oren, their blood on the stones... The horrible scene was right there in front of her when she stared into nothing for too long. No matter how many distractions she threw herself into, that night was always there, lurking at the edges of her vision. When she closed her eyes to sleep, there was sometimes darkness and reprieve. But sometimes, there was Highever and the blood, and never far behind, there was the Archdemon, the darkspawn taint inside of her rising with her fear. When her eyes snapped open, there was the Blight, and all the pressure of the world was on her to stop it from spreading too far. Everyone’s hopes hung on her actions, on the alliances only she as a Grey Warden could make, but her Joining had been so violent. She’d survived, but was she supposed to? How was she going to do this? To reconcile the world so it didn’t end as tragically as hers had?

“Warden?”

She wanted to help, she wanted to save everyone, but what if she couldn’t? What if Alistair trusted her too much to lead? There was no what ifs about it. He was. She had no idea what she was doing, and if she led her companions astray, all of them would die.  _ Ferelden _ would die, and other lands would follow— 

“Melody, my dear, look at me. Come back.”

Zevran’s hands cupped her face, warm and insistent. He was standing before her, lifting her gaze up to meet his. “As beautiful as you are when you cry, I liked it better when you were laughing. It’s so much rarer.”

“You make it sound like I sit around crying all the time.” Ashamed, she pushed his hands away and rubbed her own face. Mentally, she gave herself a firm, hard shake. “I’m  _ fine _ . I’m only upset because you’re right. I am sad and unhappy and all those things, and I’m angry that you noticed. Here I thought I was hiding it so well. But if you’ve noticed, the others are bound to notice, too, if they haven’t already.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?”

“An assassin asking me that! That’s so rich. Yes, it is. Because you’re all trusting me enough to follow me. That means I have to be strong. That means I can’t break because if I do…”

“Because if you do, then what?”

She whispered, “I don’t know. But it can’t be good, can it?”

Zevran sat beside her. “You’re doing us all a disservice. Everyone is here for their own reasons, but that doesn’t mean we can’t support you when your strength fails you. I owe you my life, Warden. The least I could do is sit here in the dark with you and listen to your pain.”

“Really? You’d do that for a sad, beautiful woman who hasn’t had sex in two years?”

“I must especially do so for such a woman. My Antivan honor depends on it.”

For that, Melody rewarded him. She laughed, a short, choked sound, but it was a laugh nonetheless. She adjusted the blanket and wordlessly held one end open to him. Zevran accepted it and moved until his side was pressed against hers, the blanket a warm cocoon over their shoulders.

She took a moment to gather her words, realizing that she hadn’t talked about Highever with anyone, not like this.

“I should’ve said something.”

Zevran’s leather armor was warm against her, and she leaned until her cheek rested on his shoulder. “When I thanked Howe for coming to aid my father, his reaction struck me as strange at the time. He’d looked guilty, as if he were ashamed for accepting my thanks. I thought about saying something, but the more I lingered on it, the more it seemed foolish to mention. What would I have said? What would it have illuminated about him that anyone would believe? Howe had been my father’s friend for so long. No one would’ve jumped to treachery.  _ I _ didn’t. So I said nothing, and when I awoke, my sister-in-law and nephew were dead, and I nearly joined them.

“I know deep down it would’ve changed nothing, but I wish I had mentioned his behavior to someone because it could’ve changed  _ everything _ . I feel as if it’s all somehow my fault. Isn’t that stupid?”

“I believe the term you’re looking for, my dear, is survivor’s guilt.”

“...Huh.” Melody sat up, cursing her weakness, both for leaning on him and talking too much. Yet Zevran didn’t seem to mind, and she found she didn’t want to stop doing the latter at least. “Bodahn’s heard rumors that Howe’s traveling to Denerim. Part of me wants to prevent him from ever reaching the city, but that would mean turning away from Redcliffe and the Arl.” She sighed harshly. “I  _ hate _ this.”

“No patience for politics, I see.”

“Not in this matter. That’s Leliana’s prerogative.”

“What will you do, then, if this charming usurper of yours is useful for ending the Blight?”

Melody’s grip on the blanket became an iron fist.

She had never considered that possibility. That Howe would be a necessary asset for fighting darkspawn, but then he had plenty of men and now her late father’s own soldiers under his command. She had always imagined that he and Loghain would die at her and Alistair’s hands, and then their allies would end the Blight themselves, but what if that wasn’t enough? What if they—what if Howe—meant all the difference between victory and defeat?

In a deadened voice, she replied, “I suppose I will have to let him fight with us, won’t I? We’ll destroy the darkspawn and kill the Archdemon together, as allies. When it’s over, I’ll turn to Howe and thank him for his service.” Her gaze cut to Zevran’s. “And then I’ll demonstrate what a proper betrayal looks like by staring into his hated eyes and stabbing him in his empty heart.” 

Zevran was so close, she could pinpoint the moment his eyes darkened. Could feel the timbre of his voice, low and throaty, against her skin. “Taking pleasure in the kill without all the foreplay? You would make for a terrifying Crow.”

“Ah, but then I’d have to hunt you down, and that would be too bad.”

“Not if you allow me to show you why I prefer the use of foreplay over ruthless efficiency. Difficult marks such as myself simply demand it.”

Melody ducked her head and settled her attention back over the still surface of the pond. She ignored her blushing. “A good thing the Wardens claimed me first.”

“Will they and this noble cause of darkspawn slaying be the only thing that claims you, my dear?” Zevran lowered his side of the blanket to drape around his waist. Melody got the sense it was so he could be more expressive with his hands, one of which he waved now. “Fantasizing over revenge plots and how we’re going to save the world is all well and good, but they lose power quickly as distractions. There are better methods to blocking out the world’s demands, to gain a bit of happiness, however fleeting, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t encourage you to use them.”

“I know what you’re getting at.” She straightened. “But what exactly are you offering?”

“Myself, and my tent, whenever you need it. Or we could use yours, if you prefer.” He smiled a slow, lazy smile. “You’re curious about me; I’m  _ intrigued _ about you, and who could blame either of us? Two years is long enough, don’t you think? And I cannot think of a worse time for anyone to remain celibate.” 

Melody was always looking for distractions to throw herself into, but this… It felt a lot bigger than a mere distraction. Zevran was magnetic, smooth-talking, and confident, was experienced and, above all, interested in her, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about sleeping with him. And yet… “I wish I could take you up on that, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

To his credit, Zevran didn’t appear disappointed or deterred. If anything, he appeared intent, a blond brow rising in challenge. “Have I misread the situation? Are you and Alistair actually—?”

“No! No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just… not a one-night stand or casual sex kind of person. It’s always had to mean something, with someone special to me. And also…” Melody hedged, wondering how she could explain the most important thing without giving away Grey Warden secrets. The reason why she had been so upset after talking with Alistair and had all but fled the camp to get away from the truth.

It was because he had told her about the Calling. That she would have ten years, maybe thirty if she were lucky, before the darkspawn taint inside of her rose too strongly. Before she would suffer from nightmares and bad omens, would see hallucinations and hear whispers aimed for her to seek out the Old Gods as if she were a darkspawn herself. A handful of decades left, and then she would have to descend into the Deep Roads, killing as many darkspawn as she could before they took her down, all so the madness happening in her head would stop and she could pass on to the Maker.

And worse, with the Blight occurring now, it was likely that the Calling would happen to her much quicker, especially if they didn’t defeat the Archdemon soon. Being a Grey Warden meant sacrificing yourself to the cause, but she had never anticipated the level of sacrifice this life demanded. No one did, outside of the Wardens. The Joining, the Calling, so much of it was a deeply-held secret. In retrospect, she understood why. If everyone knew, no one would join up, and that couldn’t happen. The world  _ needed _ Grey Wardens.

That surefire belief didn’t change the fact that she was now enraged and more frightened than she had ever been. And indescribably lonely. She hadn’t  _ wanted _ this, any of it, but she was determined to make the best of a bad situation… Until knowledge of the Calling had punched her in the gut, stripped her down to her greatest fears, and rendered her hopeless and quietly desperate. A scream without sound. She didn’t want to die, or go mad, or be alone, or leave anyone behind, yet that was exactly the future in store for her, arriving much earlier than she’d ever anticipated. Death by bandit, darkspawn, or Archdemon had always been a vague possibility, but the Calling was a definite outcome. Inescapable and unstoppable. 

She tried to explain. “I can’t justify allowing myself to get close to someone now that I’m a Warden. They’d always be in danger of darkspawn, and I, well… My mortality has never been more apparent. It just seems unfair and cruel to put someone I love through this life with me. The thought of entering into a relationship with someone sounds so selfish and... painful, so I can’t…” 

“I have to confess, after living the life of an assassin as I have, that is a strange stance to take. Not to say I don’t understand your reservations—” Zevran cut off with a laugh. “Well, no, I  _ don’t _ understand them. Inhibitions have rarely curtailed my actions, and not only because of my upbringing around skilled, firm-handed whores.” 

He winked, brought himself level with her, and… looked. Just looked. She didn’t move as he took his time examining her. The worried crease in her brow, the admittedly miserable frown of her lips, the shiny luster of her eyes. Was he privately amused by what he found, memorizing every weakness with gratification? That someone who’d brought him low was now close to hitting rock bottom herself? Or—mad as it was to think—was he genuinely concerned? She didn’t know him well enough to know what  _ this _ particular, slight smile meant.

It was almost a relief when he plucked a damp strand of her hair to idly curl around his finger— _ this _ part of Zevran, she recognized. His smile grew wicked even as he spoke in such a reasonable, coaxing tone. “What I  _ do _ understand is that life is unpredictable, and you don’t know when yours will end. You have to take your pleasure where you can. Love is even rarer and easier to lose. Better that you chase one and never expect the other.” 

Melody managed to find her voice. “Sounds like a sure way to get unpleasantly surprised, if not by love, then by venereal diseases.”

“Only if you’re not careful, my dear.” He raised the strand to his lips. “And I know how to be  _ very _ careful. How to make love without falling into it. How to fuck with pure, physical abandon while maintaining a healthy emotional distance.”

“Well, I  _ don’t _ know how to do that,” she declared, her skin hot but her tone firm. She tugged her hair free and considered gathering up her things before the swooping sensation in her stomach could turn into full-blown fluttering.

But Zevran’s voice was rumbling in her ear, hot and persuasive, and his chest was mere centimeters away from pressing against her shoulder. “I know you don’t. Fortunately, I’m patient enough to teach you.”

“And what if I can’t? If I’m incapable of separating feelings from sex?”

“Then, we’ll stop, on your order.” Zevran placed a hand on his chest, earnest. “I won’t ever expect anything from you that you’re not willing to give, if that makes it easier, and just think. Neither of us will have to sneak the other into camp and risk Sten’s ire. It will all be beautifully simple. I’ll be your distraction for as long as you’re mine.”

Melody released a creaky, nervous laugh. He made it sound like nothing. Perhaps if this were one of her stronger days, she wouldn't even humor his words, but it wasn't. Tonight, she was weak, and his offer was so sensible. So tempting. 

Mutual distractions. Right. She could do that. In fact, she probably needed this, and if she decided to be foolish, he was giving her a way out from the start. No obligations, no expectations. Just fun. Just pleasure. “How… How do you start something like this?”

“Slow, my dear. Slow.”

She searched him for… what? Signs of deception? Of malicious intent? The same weaknesses or needs he’d found in her? She wasn’t sure. The longer she looked, the more she lingered on his amber eyes. How would they look when the tent candles burned low, herself bared with only him to see? What would those plump lips of his murmur into her ear under cover of darkness, and what parts of her would be his favorite to taste? What would his tattoos feel like beneath her fingers, and where else did he have—?

“You can touch them.”

Caught staring, she flushed. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”  _ Stare? Or make it so obvious? _

“Nonsense. I know they’re irresistible. That’s the whole point.” His smirk was at once smug and inviting. It shot heat straight down her spine, settling in her core. “Go ahead, lovely thing. Touch me.”

Reasons why she should or shouldn’t do this fled her at his encouragement. It would almost sound like he was begging if he wasn’t so utterly assured. This was a trap, one she was reaching for with her right hand, slow but without hesitation. The first curving tattoo had an intriguing texture, soft like his skin but still ever so slightly different. She trailed a finger down its length with the lightest touch.

Zevran shuddered, leaning farther into her hand. “ _Aaah_ , I thought you said you didn’t want to be cruel.”

Melody froze—then withdrew her hand. “I didn’t mean—I’ll stop—”

“Absolutely not.” He halted her retreat with a  _ look _ . “I  _ like _ cruelty, and this is  _ delicious _ . Continue.”

“If you insist,” she said, then dared, “Zev.”

His brows neared his hairline as she traced his cheekbone, meandering toward the next tattoo. He looked a little dazed, at her ministrations or the shortening of his name, she couldn’t tell. Throat dry, she offered, “When we met, you said your friends call you Zev. I… have to consider us friends for this. But if you don’t want me to—”

“No,” he said, then clarified, his eyes sliding closed. “You can. I haven’t… It has been a long time since anyone has called me that in earnest.”

“In that case, Zev?”

“Yes, darling?”

Breath catching at how rough his usually smooth accent was, she released her hold on the blanket. She followed the slight, curving line on his left temple. “I like a bit of cruelty, too.”

He grinned, wide and sharp. He opened his eyes, and they were molten gold. “I’ll remember,” he promised, capturing her hand with his and placing a hot kiss on her palm. All she could do was watch, heart hammering in her chest, as he dragged his mouth down to her wrist, teeth scraping against her pulse. 

Utterly distracted, Melody didn’t notice his other hand slipping toward the back of her neck until she was drawn forward. His lips grazed hers, soft and unhurried. She exhaled shakily, her toes curling with anticipation. Her eyes were already closed, her body nearing his to seek his warmth. When his mouth dipped to kiss along her jaw, she made an impatient sound.

“Not this slow?” Zevran asked, the words branding her skin. “I’m just returning the torture.”

Her hand shot out and grasped him by the collar of his armor, pulling him closer. “If you don’t kiss me properly, I’m going to—”

Melody’s threat was silenced as Zevran kissed her hard, both hands angling her face up to his. He could snap her neck like this, could end her in an instant. Instead, his tongue was stroking hers, teasing little whimpers of pleasure from her. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, unsecured by either of them and no longer needed. Her hand curled around one of his wrists, clinging to him. Zevran pulled back to give them both some air, and with a moan of frustration, Melody chased him. When  _ she _ kissed  _ him _ , she felt him smiling, a hum of satisfaction rumbling in his chest. Her fingers scorched along his jaw, tangled in his shoulder-length hair, touched every part of him that his armor didn’t block. She shifted and rose only to straddle his lap, arching into him as his hands skated down her sides. 

It was only when his fingers danced along a bare inner thigh that she wrenched her mouth from his, stopping them both even as her body shivered from his touch. Every part of her screaming at her to let him—

She shut down those thoughts. Insatiable, unbridled, this was exactly why she’d wanted to resist this, resist  _ him _ , for as long as she had. Once she started, it was nearly impossible for her to stop.

But stop she had, and only her body was affected. Not her heart. Not her feelings. In that respect, Zevran was keeping his word.

Taking it slow, however…

He laughed into her neck. “It was only supposed to be a kiss, I swear! This is why I don’t go too long without companionship. Two years, and your urges are…  _ considerable _ .”

“Think you can fulfill them?”

“Yes. And if by some curse I cannot, then I shall die trying. It’s how I’ve always wanted to go. Curiously, still by your hand, no?”

She regarded him for a beat, their breaths mingling in the scant inches between them. It took a second for her to draw one of his own daggers from his back, another to hold the blade under his chin. His eyes rounded with alarm before sliding half-closed, voice thick with wanting. “Does this mean you’re into knife play? Please say yes.”

“It means”—she tilted up his head with the flat of the blade, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone more excited than Zevran right now, his pupils blown wide and his mouth agape, eager. Beneath her, she felt him, as hard as jadeite, and tightened her grip on the hilt—“if this is all an elaborate trap to kill me, then yes. You  _ will _ die by my hand.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” he hissed, thrusting his hips once until she nearly pricked him. “It would be no less than I deserve, but I swear to you, my darling, I only intend to give you a little death.  _ Several _ little deaths.” He smirked, a flash of white teeth. “But answer me true. Knife play, yes or no?”

“You’re—”  _ Incorrigible, depraved, utterly insane? _ All true, but ultimately, he was hers. For now. She lowered the dagger. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“How I must hide my surprise. You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to showing you how boring your previous lovers have been.”

“So long as you don’t ruin me for the ones after you.”

“I can promise you many things, Melody, but  _ never _ that.”

“Can you still promise to take this slow?”

“After you’ve—” Zevran sighed a sigh of pure frustration. “Yes, as you wish. Lead this little dance of ours, by all means.” 

With a shaky chuckle, she extricated herself from him and tossed him back the dagger, hilt-first. He deftly caught it and returned it to its sheath, wincing only a little at the problem going on in his trousers. A little complacent, she left him to it and reached for the blanket, only to cringe away. When the cloth had fallen from her shoulders, it had partially landed on the dead bandit’s body, which she had completely forgotten about in her… passion. Well, it could live there now. She gathered her set of daggers, but Zevran beat her to her armor. 

Handing over her boots, he said, “I’m curious. How are you feeling now, Warden?”

“Besides ravished, you mean?” She slipped on the first boot. “I won’t lie, I’m still… Still sad, still stressed, but… Better. A little lighter.”

“You’re smiling.”

She was, she realized, of unadulterated happiness. Even that was a bit easier now.

Boots on and daggers in hand, she started back towards the camp, Zevran in step beside her. “I don’t know if I said as much, but I’m glad you were the one who followed me.”

“I can imagine. Sten doesn’t strike me as being much of a kisser. Also more into bludgeoning than sharp edges.”

“Not  _ just _ because of that. And not because of the flawless murder of bandits, either.” She stepped over a root jutting out through the brush, ignoring how much interest Zevran was giving to her bare legs. “You listened to me, helped me finally talk things out. Thank you.”

Zevran shrugged, but a smile tinged his lips. “You’re welcome, but surely Alistair would’ve done the same. The two of you… talk.”

“We do, but not about…” She waved, indicating the conversation—and all that had accompanied it—that they were leaving behind. “For a moment there, you sounded a little…”

“Say it, Warden.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Jealous.”

“I was.” His gaze settled with unmistakable focus upon her lips. “But not anymore.”

Face flushing hot again, Melody smirked back, feeling a sense of satisfaction herself. They didn’t speak again until they entered camp, until she had waved at Leliana sitting by the fire and sent an “I’m okay” nod at Alistair’s concerned frown. Wynne had already retired whereas Morrigan and Sten, she noticed, were absent, along with her mabari. Interesting but nothing to worry over.

She stopped before the flap of her tent, taking her armor from Zevran’s capable hands. “I suppose a distraction now and then won’t be a bad thing.”

“I’m glad to hear it, even if it means I have to wait for you to be brave enough to enter  my tent.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not  _ scared _ , Crow. You’re not intimidating.”

Zevran’s laugh was a dark thing in his throat. “It’s not the Crow part of me you should be afraid of, but the Antivan. Not even the Orlesians can match us in the bedroom, and Fereldan as you are? Normally, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Lucky for me that you are so  _ unsatisfied _ —”

She sighed loudly.

“So  _ desperate _ —”

“I am  _ not _ .”

“So  _ fervid _ with—”

She took a step, another, until her face was an inch from his. Her gaze fell upon his lips, and when she glanced up, she found his own gaze similarly occupied. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, an almost subconscious act, and Zevran moved to close the distance.

She smiled and turned toward her tent. “Goodnight, Zev.” 

“Goodnight,” he purred as the tent flap closed behind her. “Mel.”

Curled up on her cot, Melody relived her night, the good parts, with building giddiness. Trepidation wasn’t far behind, but she forced it down, choosing to remember how Zevran had looked in the moonlight, softer yet even more beguiling than usual. How the silkiness of his hair and smoothness of his skin belied the effortless killer he was. How heady he’d tasted and how expertly he’d kissed her. She already missed the scent of leather that accompanied him and resisted the ridiculous urge to bring her own light leather armor to her nose. One little exchange between them, and she was already acting like an infatuated fool.

She tried not to think too much about how she had affected him, too, but it proved impossible.

But there were no real feelings, not really. Lust was merely a hell of a drug, stronger than lyrium and as potent as deathroot. She wondered how long they would engage in this slow dance before she gave in and invited him to her tent (or surprised him in his). Because it would be her who would break first. She had already made peace with it. No matter how it happened, it would at least be on her terms when she had no second thoughts or reservations, and that was no small comfort.

A deeper part of her, one that she was unconscious of, wondered with dread if Zevran was no longer a distraction, if he ever had been. If feelings were already in the equation. She wouldn’t know if so, not until it was too late.

_ I’ll be your distraction for as long as you’re mine. _

Not until he found another, more enticing distraction, and she was left there, alone, with nothing but her broken heart in her hands.


End file.
